


A Brother in Arms

by Euphorion



Series: Polyamory [3]
Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Angst, Character Study, F/M, Jealousy, M/M, Masturbation, Unrequited Love, aromantic momoi, bisexual aomine, no but for real unrequited love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-07
Updated: 2015-02-07
Packaged: 2018-03-10 22:42:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3306077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Euphorion/pseuds/Euphorion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The third of a set of interlocking fics that began with Your Fonder Heart and continued with A Liar or a Lover, centered around Kise. You could probably read these in any order, they're non-linear, but reading all of them will fill out a larger picture of the relationships going on & they work best in the order they were written.</p><p>All the titles are from Your Fonder Heart by Anais Mitchell.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Brother in Arms

The first time Kise fell in love he thought it was the best thing to ever happen to him.

He’d grown up alone—alone, and pretty, and bored. There was a causality link there that he could never quite get his head around. Perhaps it was circular: he was bored because he was alone and pretty, and he was alone because he was pretty and bored by everyone around him, and he was pretty because when he grew up alone and bored he decided to devote his time to becoming someone other people would want to be around, and the simplest way to do so was to focus on his looks.

He discovered early on that he had a talent for imitation and used it to his advantage, studying the expressions and emotions on the faces in the magazines his mother left laying around, men with inviting eyes and lithe, graceful bodies, men to be written over with fantasy because they could be anything anyone needed them to be.

Kise could be anything anyone needed him to be, too. He was offered his first modeling contract his first year of middle school. Maybe it should’ve made him happier, but success and happiness weren’t things he’d really learned to link, yet; not until after he fell in love.

He came to Teiko in his second year, having outstripped his classmates at his previous school in athletics and those academic subjects that didn’t put him immediately to sleep. He’d taken part in track at his old school to keep in shape, and he was fast and he was strong but nothing was particularly _fun_. He liked the feeling of pushing his body on to greater effort; liked the idea of making his body as skilled as it was beautiful but it was lonely, only ever being challenged by his own limits.

So the answer must be team sports, but only if he had a team that was actually good.

He stopped by the basketball court on his way back from class one day, hearing the squeak of shoes on the waxed floors. The boy on the court was dark, lithe motion, moving too quickly for Kise to get a good look at him. It was only when he lofted the ball high, a weird, improbable arc, that it resolved itself into a brown-skinned boy with sharp eyes who watched the ball swish perfectly through the hoop and then turned to regard Kise curiously.

“You play?” he asked with a smile like a pure slice of moon, a smile that Kise swore he could feel against his skin.

He should have said no; he’d never been closer to a basketball than this in his life. But the boy gathered up the ball and passed it to him and Kise copied him as best he could. He didn't win—he didn’t even come close to winning—and he worked so hard he was drenched in sweat, but the other boy was, too, the other boy looked at him with a mixture of confusion and respect. “You suck,” he said, “but you suck, like, ten times less than when you came in here.”

His name was Aomine Daiki and he liked basketball, action films, and girls with big tits.

His name was Kise Ryota and if you’d asked him what he liked he would have written down _Aomine Daiki_ five times in a row and then, belatedly, _basketball._

+

The second time Kise fell in love he already knew the score.

It happened slower: he was pretty sure nothing would ever hit him with the force of that first game of basketball with Aomine. But it was almost worse, to slip so slowly, unable to stop; it was almost worse to have the realization burn cold and certain rather than hot.

Kuroko had his eyes closed, his legs folded under him. He was leaning forward slightly into Kise’s space, his eyes moving under his eyelids as he waited. Kise swallowed, raising a hand. He slid his fingers under Kuroko’s chin to keep him steady and carefully traced the curve of his lash line with the tip of the liquid eyeliner, concentrating on moving smooth and slow. When he raised it again Kuroko started to open his eye and Kise said softly, “no, no. Give it a minute.”

Obediently Kuroko closed his eye again, and Kise was left with nothing to do but stare at him, at the perfect, waiting planes of his face. There was a little happy curl at the corner of Kuroko’s mouth and it deepened when he spoke: “You know, they have stylists to do this for you.”

“Yes, Kurokocchi,” Kise said solemnly, “I am aware, I have been doing this a while. But I don’t have stylists around for day to day, do I, so I need to practice.” He leaned in to do the other eye. “Besides,” he said, “maybe if we make ourselves pretty enough our favorite pervert will take notice.”

Kuroko huffed a little laugh against the heel of his hand and Kise thought, _oh._

The eyeliner made Kuroko’s eyes huge and blue and luminous and Kise had no idea how any one person could be so beautiful and so invisible all at once. The worst part was that it worked, Aomine did notice. Aomine noticed and didn’t stop noticing, Aomine jogged backward to talk to Kuroko while they were walking to games and Aomine smirked at Kuroko after he caught his passes and Aomine made incredible, impossible plays and ended them by slinging an arm around Kuroko and muttering something in his ear that made Kuroko go red.

“I like what you’re doing with eyeliner lately,” Momoi told Kise, making him jump a little and tear his guilty eyes away from the pair. He smiled at her, appreciative, despairing. 

She laid a hand on his arm, giving him the kind of look she gave opposing players when she wanted them to know that she absolutely knew every detail of their strengths and weaknesses and could—if she so chose—make very good use of them. It was a weird combination of terrifying and extremely comforting. “You want to get coffee?”

Kise watched Aomine hold out a fist for Kuroko to bump, watched Kuroko’s joy wash him totally free of his exhaustion, and said fervently, “yes, please.”

He kind of expected Momoi to take him to some nice, upscale place, the kind of café where he met up with his agent and talked about spreads in various magazines and the benefits of capitalizing on his recent sports success or downplaying it in favor of his romantic side. Maybe because he associated coffee with being managed, and somehow this felt more strategic than sympathetic.

Instead, she took him to a tiny cozy hole-in-the-wall where the girl behind the counter greeted her by name. It smelled amazing. Momoi ordered for Kise without asking and led him inexorably to a table in the corner.

“I figure—you’re an up-and-coming celebrity, we’re gonna be airing out your dirty laundry…” she shrugged and gestured to the seat opposite her.

Kise took it, feeling caught off-guard. “Um,” he said, “are we?”

Momoi ignored the question and cocked her head at him. “What’s it like to be in love?”

Kise blinked at her. “Shitty,” he said immediately, and then frowned. “Hang on, what do you mean, aren’t you in love with Kuroko—?” he cut himself off before he said _too_ , he was pretty sure she knew but that didn’t mean he was gonna offer up his whole soul unprompted. 

Momoi smiled sideways at him. “It’s easy,” she said, and he waited, more confused than he had been in a long time. “Pretending, I mean,” she said, as if that should clarify something.

He stared at her. “What?”

She sighed. “Listen,” she said. “I’m very hot. I am a very hot, very smart girl who hangs out with guys 98% of the time, some—“ she quirked an eyebrow at him, “—although not many of whom are straight. I am also like…nearly certain I can’t fall in love.”

Kise processed that. “Can’t,” he ventured, “not just—haven’t, but can’t?”

Momoi waited until the waitress had brought them her drinks, flashing her a quick smile and then staring after her, her face relaxing into something sad. “I don’t know,” she said. “There’s always the cliché, right, maybe I just haven’t found the one, maybe someday I’ll run into some magical person who’ll wake up my cold, dead heart and set it beating _good_.” Her lips twisted. “What do you think?”

Kise watched her face. “I think you probably know yourself pretty well, Momoicchi.” He sipped his coffee. “So Kuroko is a kind of—shield?”

Momoi looked at him for another long minute, and then smiled, a true smile this time. “I chose Kuroko because I think he gets it. Not because he’s—whatever, like me, he just, like. Understands stuff.”

Kise nodded. Kuroko’s capacity to understand stuff was huge and bewildering. 

“Plus,” Momoi continued, “there’s no chance he’s gonna love me back, so he’s safe.”

“Well,” Kise said, attempting a joke, “I guess we have something in common there.”

Momoi rolled her eyes at him. “I didn’t take you out for coffee so you could just be self-pitying. I’m glad you fell for my act, though.“ She wrinkled her nose at him. “Although you must have a pretty low opinion of Dai-chan, then.”

Kise frowned at her, because it wasn’t like her to be so completely wrong. “What do you mean?”

“He’s my best friend,” Momoi said, “you think if I really loved Kuroko he would’ve asked him out?”

Kise felt his heart drop into his shoes, saw what his own face must be doing in Momoi’s look of shocked horror. “Oh my god,” she said, covering her mouth with her hands. “You didn’t know.”

Kise closed his eyes. “No,” he managed. “I didn’t.”

“Shit,” he heard Momoi say. “Kise—I’m so sorry, I assumed he would have told you—“

“Who?” Kise asked, opening his eyes. “Which one?” He heard his voice come out bitter, sharp. “Aomine didn’t tell me because as far as he’s concerned it’s none of my fucking business, and Kuroko—“ He stopped. “Kuroko didn’t want to break my heart.”

Momoi raised her eyebrows at him. “He knows how you feel about him?”

Kise smiled a little, his lips trembling. “No,” he said, and then, “Maybe. But he definitely knows how I feel about Aomine.”

“Oh,” said Momoi, and then, “oh,” again, quieter.

Kise took a long breath. “Momoicchi,” he said, “it’s not as though I don’t appreciate the concern but I think—I think I may need to take this delicious coffee elsewhere and sort through some things.”

Momoi nodded. “Of course.”

Kise started to leave and Momoi called, “Ki-chan.” He looked back at her. She was smiling slightly at him. “This wasn’t a one-time offer,” she said. “If you ever want to chat, let me know.”

Kise nodded, and attempted to smile at her without looking like he was grimacing; he was glad of the offer but he also felt a little bit like he might shake himself apart if he stayed still any longer. 

He planned to go home but changed trains at the last minute, some of the shock and frustration in his veins shifting into anger. Aomine was an asshole and couldn’t be expected to share anything in his life with Kise but Kuroko—he and Kuroko were in this together, had been in this together since day one and it wasn’t _fair._

Kuroko opened his door in pajamas, a towel around his neck. His face was clean and bare and open and his hair was a stupid mess and Kise’s battered heart bruised just a little bit more. “Kurokocchi,” he said, regretting it, regretting coming here, regretting not just letting this be. “Can I come in?”

Kuroko nodded and stepped aside. His shoes and schoolbag were in the middle of the floor, he must have come home not long ago. He and Aomine had probably met up after practice and—Kise clenched his fists, finding his anger again.

“Momoi-san told you,” Kuroko said from behind him, and Kise spun on him.

“Why didn’t _you_ tell me?” Kise demanded. “Why didn’t you warn me?”

Kuroko glared at him. “Because _he_ asked _me_ ,” he snapped. He ran a hand through his hair as if checking its dryness. “I was going to ask him,” he said, quieter. “I was going to tell you that I was planning on it, give you.” He shrugged a little. “I don’t know, a chance to try, or.”

Kise stared at him. “Try,” he echoed, feeling empty, hollowed out. He sank down on the ledge of Kuroko’s window.

“I knew he was interested in me,” Kuroko said at last. “I could have told you when I realized, and I’m sorry that I didn’t.”

Kise shook his head. “No,” he said, “I knew too, I saw it, how could I _not_ have seen it, and—and what good would it have done, anyway, to know?” He took a breath and raised his eyes. “I’m sorry.”

Kuroko frowned at him. “Please don’t be.”

Kise bit his lip. “I am,” he said. “I want to be happy for you, I want it so badly, I just—”

Kuroko crossed to him, tilting his head up with sure fingers, and Kise wanted to close his eyes so he didn’t have to see the pity in his face but he couldn’t, couldn’t tear his gaze away from the tiny smile that curved Kuroko’s lips. 

“Kise-kun,” Kuroko said softly, “you are selfless enough not to be angry. I couldn’t possibly demand that you not be sad.”

Kise’s mouth twitched miserably. He caught Kuroko’s hands and slumped forward, burying his face in them. He took a shaking breath. “You know.”

Kuroko cupped one of his cheeks, his thumb tracing slow and cool over the curve of his cheekbone. “Know what?”

Kise shifted so he could speak clearly, but didn’t—couldn’t—look up at him. “You know it isn’t just him. The reason that I’m sad.” He swallowed. “Kuroko—Tetsuya—you _must_ know.”

Kuroko’s hands stilled, just for a moment, and then he said quietly. “Yeah. I do.”

It was the gentlest possible rejection, and Kise felt hurt and sorrowful but honestly mostly _relieved_ , like he’d shed some great burden of secrecy, of possibility, of hope. He closed his eyes, letting Kuroko hold him up and finally not trying for—not pushing for—not even really wanting anything more.

+

The next day he texted Kuroko: _how did you know momoicchi told me?_

 _she asked me earlier if you knew_ , Kuroko responded, and Kise stared at that for a minute. But—what?

He called Momoi. “You knew I didn’t know,” he accused when she picked up, “and you dropped it on me like it was nothing! And then you lied about it!”

“Ki-chan,” she greeted. “How was your talk? Do you feel better?”

Kise started to snap at her and stopped. He stared at his feet. He felt—jealous, and frustrated, and sad, but set over it all was a kind of calm. He’d woken up early and worked out, focusing only on the burn of his muscle and the breath in his lungs. It was surprisingly easy to just—not think about it, or to recognize that he was upset but not—upset about being upset. He remembered Kuroko’s gentle fingertips, remembered his smile. _I couldn’t possibly demand that you not be sad._

It was okay. He could feel how he needed to feel, and it was okay.

“Yeah,” he said, and then, a little grudgingly, “thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” she said. “I’d suggest you talk to Aomine, too, but he’s not really the talking kind.”

Kise closed his eyes. “Yeah,” he said, “I don’t think that would be a good idea.” Maybe better to keep away from Aomine for a while, because he was feeling better but he was also absolutely certain that this zen calm—this sadness without real pain—wouldn’t last a fucking second if confronted with the definite reality of seeing Aomine in love. 

Momoi sighed. “Don’t avoid him.”

Kise blinked his eyes open. “How did you—“ he subsided. It was a stupid question. “Why?” he asked instead.

“Because you’re his friend,” Momoi said. “He cares about you, and if you vanish he’ll notice, and then he’ll ask you what’s wrong, and then you’ll be stuck talking to him about it anyway.” 

Kise slumped into a chair in his kitchen. Having someone who was eternally correct as a coach was bad enough, he wasn’t sure he could deal with having her as a confidant as well.

“I’m not saying you have to spend every waking minute with him,” Momoi continued. “Just—if he wants to hang out, don’t turn him down.” 

+

“What’re you worried about?” Aomine asked, letting them into his apartment. “We wiped the floor with them last year, and that was before you joined.”

Kise flushed a little at the implied compliment. “Yeah, but we’ve gotten better. Maybe so have they.” He wandered over to Aomine’s fridge. “You got anything to drink?”

“There’s a couple bottles of Pocari in my room,” Aomine responded absently. “They can’t beat us, that’s why they’re called the _Uncrowned_ Kings.”

Kise made his way into Aomine’s room, carefully not thinking about how Aomine kept bottles of Kuroko’s favorite drink on the floor by his bed. “I don’t know, I don’t think we should underestimate them,” Kise called back.

He tripped on something. Glancing down, he found a shoebox, half-open to reveal a stack of magazines. He snorted, about to mock Aomine for keeping his porn in a box for basketball shoes in the middle of his floor—honestly he was surprised he didn’t just put it in his bookshelves, _Aomine_ and _shame_ never really went together—when something caught his eye. He shifted a few magazine full of mostly-naked, incredibly busty women over to reveal a few shabbier (better used, his brain noted absently) magazines of mostly-naked, gracefully muscular men. That wasn’t a surprise—how could it be—but there was one, less overtly pornographic than the others, that made Kise frown. 

Something about the cover set something off in his memory. He flipped it open to a page with the corner folded down and had to clap a hand over his own mouth to keep from cursing aloud.

He remembered this photoshoot. He remembered feeling vaguely ridiculous, suit jacket and shirt open and hanging from his shoulders, remembered trying to arrange himself suitably per the director’s instructions but not so he was just sitting spread-legged for the camera. Looking at it now with the part of his brain that was eternally self-critical, rather than the rest of his brain which was still incoherent with shock, he supposed he’d done a pretty good job—the angle of his legs, the cant of his hips, managed to be just this side of lewd, sitting pretty on the edge of enticing. He looked good.

 _Aomine thinks so, anyway,_ the majority of his brain chimed in, and then even his self-critic was overwhelmed by that: Aomine kept a mostly-shirtless, definitely sexy photoshoot of him in the same box as his porn. Aomine had the page of him looking sexy and mostly shirtless dog-eared. There was a high probability that Aomine _jacked off_ looking at mostly-shirtless, sexy pictures of him.

Kise sat in absolute stillness for a moment and then carefully gathered the magazines up with a shaking hand, tucking them back into the shoebox, and closed it. He scooped two bottles from where they lay on the floor and wandered back out into the living room. 

Aomine was lounging on the couch, texting. He raised an eyebrow at Kise. “You get lost?”

Kise tossed him the Pocari, keeping his voice casual with an extreme effort of will. “If your room wasn’t such a pigsty I wouldn’t have to take a thousand years digging around to find anything,” he retorted, and leaned back against the doorframe, arranging himself artfully with the ease of long practice. 

“Yow,” Aomine said mildly, “feisty today.” His eyes lingered on Kise and—did he imagine it, that little flicker of movement, like Aomine was looking him up and down?

Kise swallowed. “I should go,” he said, mouth dry, “I’ve got a history assignment I forgot about.’

Aomine stared at him for a minute, and Kise cursed Momoi for being so right. If Aomine noticed that something was up—

“Okay,” Aomine said at last. “I’ll see you tomorrow, yeah?”

Kise saluted, smiling, and let himself out.

He had perhaps the most embarrassing train ride of his life as he desperately tried to ignore the huge, incredibly sexy revelation that he’d just had until he was at least inside, but all he managed to do was think about it abstractly rather than concretely, and repeating a mantra of _Aomine has probably masturbated while thinking about me,_ while preventing him from considering in detail what that had been like, didn’t actually help matters.

He dropped his bag in the middle of his floor and stripped off his shirt the minute he got through his door, collapsing onto his bed and sucking his lips into his mouth as he palmed himself through his shorts. He was harder than he’d ever been without touching himself, and as soon as he did all the images he’d been keeping at bay snapped into stark relief against his eyelids. Aomine in the same position he was in now, legs spread, his long-fingered hand rubbing little desperate circles against his erection. Aomine’s lip caught between his teeth. Aomine with his eyes closed tight, lost in pleasure, with Kise’s picture open on his knee.

He slid his hand into his shorts along the line of his hipbone, wrapping his fingers around himself, and imagining catching Aomine at this, maybe in the locker room, imagining hearing his name in Aomine’s sex-rough voice, following the call to see him working himself quick and desperate so as not to be caught. He imagined walking up to him slowly, softly, imagined sinking to his knees and kissing Aomine’s knuckles as he jerked himself off, imagined Aomine’s eyes opening in surprise and lust, imagined wrapping a hand around the back of Aomine’s neck and pulling him in, holding his wrist so he couldn’t continue, kissing him until he was panting for it and then ducking directly from the warmth of Aomine’s mouth to the warmth of his dick, imagined Aomine’s hands in his hair—

He fisted his own hand in his hair so hard his scalp ached when he came.

He ran a hand over his face and fumbled on his nightstand for his phone. Making sure his hair was out of his eyes—but not too out of his eyes—he caught his lower lip between his teeth, let his eyelids sit heavy, and took a picture of himself. He checked it, shook his head—the framing was terrible—and tried again. That one was better—he’d gotten his face, his lips loose and reddened from his teeth, the artful spread of his hair across the pillow, and his hand trailing up his bare chest to his long expanse of throat. If he was too much of a perfectionist he’d lose the post-orgasm flush to his cheeks, and that would never do. 

He attached the picture to a text to Aomine before he could overthink it, tapping out _thinking of u_ and then a heart, and then erased the heart. He swallowed, closed his eyes for a moment, and then hit send.

He waited a beat, and then another beat, and then tapped quickly out _OH MY GOD_ , and then _aominecchi i’m so sorry that wasn’t for you_ and then _fuck oh my god._ Then he put down his phone, his heart pounding so hard he thought he might choke on it.

Fifteen minutes later (Kise tried, and failed spectacularly, not to imagine what might have happened in those fifteen minutes) he received _fucking hell kise_ and then _you’re an idiot_ and then _who the hell are you trying to send this shit to_ and he smiled to himself in the dark.

 _i have many fans, aominecchi ;)_ he replied, and tried desperately to sleep. It was mostly fruitless; he was up again in an hour or so, half hard again in two, and by the time he’d come again he’d given up on sleep altogether.

He went to school in an exhausted, exhilarated daze and kept it up, licking his lips deliberately during every conversation with Aomine, making sure to shift his hair over his shoulder in class so as to expose the long curve of his neck. Growing up a model meant knowing exactly what your good points were and exactly how to work them to your advantage; he just imagined Aomine was a camera and he was golden.

Aomine cornered him after practice. Kise helped—couldn’t help but help, lingering over putting his stuff away, pretending he didn’t notice Aomine waiting in the shadows. He let out a long sigh and pulled up his shirt to wipe sweat off his face, making sure he exposed his abs and the v of his hipbones, and then Aomine was behind him—very close behind him, was murmuring, “You’re doing this on purpose.”

He turned, attempting to feign surprise but not quite making it. “I don’t know what you mean.”

Aomine stepped up into his space and Kise swallowed and stepped back, his back hitting the lockers. “Don’t bullshit me,” Aomine breathed, very close. “You’re a fucking tease and you know it.”

Kise’s hands shook. He tucked them in his pockets and managed to tilt his jaw up in challenge. “So,” he said. “You gonna do anything about it?”

Aomine leaned in, his eyes half-lidded, his lips brushing the skin under Kise’s ear. “You’d like that, huh?” he asked, his voice low, and Kise clenched his teeth together so as not to blurt out anything stupid or make some mortifying noise that would betray just how much he would, yes, please, _god_.

Aomine’s lips closed around the lobe of his ear and his hands slipped up under Kise’s shirt and Kise’s whole body twitched. He slammed his eyes closed, his hands fisted in his pockets because Aomine—Aomine was _Aomine_ , could still be messing with him, could be joking around, and if he touched—if he touched Aomine might just back off with a laugh and Kise would probably die from frustration.

Aomine nipped him lightly and Kise couldn’t help but gasp, a little, his breath ragged, and then Aomine did laugh but didn’t back off so it was just his breath against Kise’s skin and then he said, “Think how jealous we’ll make Tetsu,” and all of a sudden Kise really did not want this at all.

He pulled himself away with an effort, stumbling a few steps out into the open. “Sorry,” he said, too-loud.

He didn’t turn to look at Aomine but he heard the surprise in his voice anyway. “Oi,” he said, “it was just a joke, he won’t care—“

Kise turned but still couldn’t quite make himself look at his face. “I don’t think that’s true,” he said carefully.

Aomine shrugged. “Why not?” he asked. “He doesn’t care about me and Momoi.”

If mentioning Kuroko was like a slap to the face, Momoi was a backhand, leaving Kise’s ears ringing and giving him the strength to be sure—not because she would care about Kise and Aomine sleeping together, she might even throw Kise a party, but because it made it perfectly clear what sleeping with Aomine would mean. It made it perfectly clear that sex between them would just be sex, and up until a minute and a half ago Kise would have said that he would take what he could get but—

But Aomine was standing there, willing, and Kise was several strides away, and no, he—he wouldn’t.

“It’s different,” he said.

“Why?” Aomine demanded. “Because she’s a girl? Don’t be ridiculous.”

Kise rolled his tongue around in his mouth, feeling jittery in his own skin, feeling crazy. He wanted—wanted to scream, wanted to snap _because she’s not in love with you,_ wanted to start this day over—start yesterday over, wanted never to have found that fucking magazine and set all his hope aflame like this because it had to burn out eventually, he had to. Fuck.

He met Aomine’s eyes, forcing the edges of his lips up into a smile. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have gone so far with it, I was just having some fun.”

He expected Aomine to call him a tease again, to be pissed off, but maybe he hadn’t quite managed to train his face right or maybe Aomine heard the lie in his voice because he looked—surprised, and a little worried. “Kise,” he started, and Kise shook his head because if there was one thing he couldn’t stand right now it was Aomine being kind to him.

“I’m gonna go,” he said shortly. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Aominecchi.” He rallied, forcing his smile wider, and winked at him. “Or perhaps in your dreams.”

Shoving his hands in his pockets, he slid out of the locker room at his fastest casual walk. He almost made it onto the train before he started to cry.

+

He woke up at 1 AM to the buzzing of his phone, flipped it open, and stared.

_i hear i have you to thank for the excellent sex i just had_

He swallowed, swallowed again, and scrubbed a hand across his face.

 _momoicchi i love you but you really need to learn to pull your blows,_ he sent back.

 _no_ , she said, and he let out a breath that might have been a laugh if there had been anything to laugh at but might also just have been him starting to cry again. His phone buzzed a second time, and a third. _i convinced him you were just being a flirt and got cold feet when you thought about kuroko. he kept asking why it would be different for him to hook up with you than it is for him to hook up with me_

Kise swallowed. _what did you say?_

_i told him i didn’t really know but that if you seemed sure he shouldn’t push it._

Kise ran a hand through his hair. _thank you_

Momoi didn’t answer for a long time. Kise thought maybe she was done, and he lay on his back, staring at the ceiling. His eyes felt hot and dry and awful but he couldn’t quite convince himself to close them—when he did, he knew he’d picture Aomine again, remember the way his hands had skimmed up his chest, the way his laugh had felt against his jaw.

His phone buzzed against his chest, jarring. _he’s really not used to not getting what he wants._

Kise stared at that for a long time. _i’m not what he wants,_ he typed out, and then erased it and stared for another few minutes. He licked his lips. _maybe he should fucking learn._

 _ahaha._ He imagined that—Momoi sitting up in bed, her face lit by her phone, laughing to herself. Would Aomine be sleeping beside her? Was that a thing, for them? Did Aomine always leave, after they’d fucked, or did he curl up around her, sometimes, spent and warm and laughing, would he throw an arm around her and tug her close from sheer fondness, if Kise had given in would that have been part of the deal, could he have had that—

His phone buzzed again and he set his jaw against his longing.

_also that picture you sent him was hot as hell, dude. it’s a shame you’re so gay_

He laughed at that, startled out of his misery, and sent her back a fond, _tell me about it._

+

Things were a little weird for a few days, but after a while Aomine stopped giving him dirty looks and worried looks both, and Kise started to relax, started trying to convince himself that if the only thing he got out of that first basketball game with Aomine was a love of the sport that was okay. He was good at it. He was _amazing_ at it—they all were, a team of giants, a team of insane, impossible savants, brought together by—something; Midorima would call it fate but Kise had given up on fate the minute Aomine asked Kuroko out. He was more willing to believe in luck, and in echo chambers: talent fed talent, after all.

And then Kuroko left, and Aomine became—something impossible. A light without its shadow; searing, untouchable, moving with absolute, terrifying freedom on the court. Every time they played Kise expected him to step off the court and relax into pleased, smirking Aomine again, celebrating their victories—but the breath out never came. Aomine off the court was deceptively lazy, his loose, absent movements obscuring a kind of eternal, horrible tension that made Kise want to scream. He wasn’t interested in anything, didn’t care about anything. Momoi retreated from his bed and his life to be a worried, hovering presence, the only one who could get anything more than a few lines of conversation out of him. 

It wasn’t Kuroko’s fault. If anything, Kuroko had left because he’d seen this coming. If anything, Kuroko had probably delayed the onset of this new Aomine by staying with him so long. If anything—

If anything it was Kise’s own fault, because Aomine just needed someone to stop him, and couldn’t Kise be anything anyone needed him to be?

If he couldn’t do this, what the fuck was he _for?_

He tried. He tried harder than he’d ever tried at anything in his life and sometimes he thought Aomine noticed, thought he might have appreciated it, somewhere in the back of his head, but it wasn’t enough. He couldn’t beat him and he couldn’t make him smile, and when they all split up for high school Kise was heartbroken and horribly, guiltily relieved.

He relished the chance to play Kuroko’s new team, convinced there was no one who could really make Kuroko— _shine_ was the wrong word, whatever the opposite of shine was, fade, maybe, disappear, but neither of them conveyed the immense power that the second love of Kise’s life carried on his slim shoulders. But the tall, brash redhead at Kuroko’s side was something unexpected, and the way he flushed whenever Kuroko smiled at him was worse.

Kuroko avoided Kise; Kuroko made it clear that his problem wasn’t just Aomine, and Kise tried to take that in stride.

He failed, and he lost, and life went on.

He watched their game against Aomine with a glimmer of hope—not that Kagami would win against him, Kise was more realistic about their difference in skill than that, but that maybe jealousy would work where simple frustration would not, that maybe jealousy would wake Aomine up anew.

When he saw Aomine and Kuroko sitting together eating dinner, he thought maybe he’d been right. Maybe they could all be okay again—maybe he could talk to Kurokocchi, maybe Aomine would talk to him.

He started to cross to them, and then Aomine leaned in and kissed Kuroko.

Kise stumbled to a stop, should’ve just turned around, should’ve gotten the hell out, but instead he started _talking_ , like he had anything to explain. He made a total idiot of himself, caught Kuroko’s eye for a split second too long, and stumbled away, feeling off-balance.

And then he just—remained off-balance. He wasn’t sure why it hit him so hard—he had nothing to say, when Kuroko texted him to check in except _fuck I love you for even asking_ which was not appropriate or useful in any way. It wasn’t—he—he’d been hoping for it, right? It was the one thing that might make Aomine okay again.

But it still hurt like _hell_ , and he took a few days to dismantle some elaborate fantasies he hadn’t even been entirely aware of building, fantasies where he got good enough to beat Aomine and Aomine loved him for it, fantasies where he convinced Kuroko to switch schools and be _his_ shadow. He threw himself into schoolwork and practice because the inside of his head was not a particularly fun place to be, and when he came home from school he did—nothing at all.

Three days after Kuroko and Aomine presumably got back together, thus restoring the world to its proper, miserable order, he pulled himself up off the floor to answer his door.

Kasamatsu was standing outside, frowning at him.

“Senpai,” he said, surprised. “Ah—come in, welcome.”

Kasamatsu gave him a terse nod and followed him inside, looking around at his apartment. He looked neither impressed or disgusted at how large and fashionable it was, which Kise counted as a win considering what he thought of everything else about Kise’s lifestyle.

He leaned against the wall, raising his eyebrows at his captain. “What can I do for you?”

Kasamatsu shrugged, turning to look at him. “You’ve been weird for a couple days,” he said. “Thought I’d come kick the shit out of you until you get over yourself.” He gave Kise a steady look. “Or you could just tell me what’s wrong.”

Kise smiled at him, touched despite himself. “It’s, ah—“ he started, and then laughed a little. “It’s pretty complicated.”

Kasamatsu sat down at Kise’s low table, folding his legs under him, and looked at him expectantly.

Kise licked his lips. “Right,” he said. “Okay.”

He started to sit opposite Kasamatsu, but his captain stuck out a foot, tripping him up. When Kise blinked at him, he snapped, “you expect me to listen to your sob story without anything to drink? Where the hell are your manners?”

Kise stared at him, at the almost imperceptible smile in his eyes. Was Kasamatsu teasing him? “Uh,” he said, “…tea?”

“Thank you,” Kasamatsu said with great satisfaction. “You can start while you make it, I don’t mind.”

“I appreciate that,” Kise said dryly, and wandered over to his stove to put on tea. The only problem was where the hell _to_ start. “Um,” he said. “You know that little guy who plays for Seirin?”

Kasamatsu thought about it. Kise waited; he was used to this whenever he brought up Kuroko. In what might have been record time, Kasamatsu said hesitantly, “…blue hair?”

“Yeah,” said Kise. “Kuroko Tetsuya.”

“Sure,” said Kasamatsu.

Kise licked his lips. “And you know Aomine Daiki, he plays for Touo now—“

“No,” Kasamatsu interrupted acidly, “I have never heard of the ace of the Generation of Miracles, in fact it’s safe to say I don’t know anything about them at all, including the one of them I’m talking to right now.”

Kise laughed, a little, and measured tea into the pot. “Our reputation does precede us, I get it.” He bit his lip. “Well,” he said, “I was in the mall the other day, and I saw them kissing.”

Kasamatsu was silent. When Kise turned to look at him, his eyebrows were all the way up and his eyes a little shuttered, a little cold. “And that bothers you?” he asked.

Kise flapped a hand at him, feeling his cheeks heat. “Not in a homophobic way!” he said hastily. “Oh my god, no, it’s—pretty much the total opposite.” He chewed the inside of his cheek and thought, _fuck it_. “I’m. Kind of in love with them.”

He didn’t think Kasamatsu’s eyebrows could rise any higher, but he was wrong. “I-in love with them,” he said, his voice a little weird.

Kise nodded, his cheeks getting hotter.

Kasamatsu blinked once, twice. “Like—what, as a concept? Like how some people are like, oh, I’m in love with, whatever, x celebrity couple—“

“No,” said Kise carefully, “no, I mean. As people. Separately. I’m in love with them.”

“What,” said Kasamatsu, “both of them? You’re in love with Aomine Daiki and—“ he frowned and waved a hand.

“Kuroko Testuya,” Kise filled in helpfully. “Yeah.”

“Wow,” said Kasamatsu simply. “Fuck, no wonder you’re upset.”

Somehow—god, somehow that helped _immeasurably_ , just having someone look at Kise’s life and say _yeah, shit’s fucked_. He let out a breath he felt like he might’ve been holding for years. “Yeah,” he said.

The kettle boiled; the silence in the wake of the whistle was surprisingly comfortable.

Kasamatsu leaned back on his hands. “Are you, like. Gonna do anything about it?”

Kise shook his head and poured the tea. “No,” he said. “They were dating in middle school, before we all went our separate ways, and I guess—“ he swallowed. “I guess they are, again, probably.”

He could feel Kasamatsu’s eyes on his back. “They don’t know how you feel,” he said. It wasn’t a question.

Kise brought him his tea with careful hands. “Kurokocchi does,” he said, and returned to the kitchen for his own. “Aominecchi—“ he shook his head.

Kasamatsu watched him as he sat. “Blue-hair turned you down?”

Kise smiled a little, flattered by how surprised he sounded, even if that wasn’t how he meant it. “Nothing dramatic,” he said. “They were already dating when I confessed, and it was more to get it off my chest than out of any real hope.”

“But then they break up, and you get your hopes up again, until you saw them,” Kasamatsu said. “Shit, Kise.”

Kise stared at the tea between his hands. “Shit,” he echoed. He flicked his eyes up to meet Kasamatsu’s gaze. “Thank you, senpai,” he said, sincere. “For listening, and for being here at all.”

Kasamatsu shrugged and looked away, stiff-shouldered. “Whatever,” he said. “Just can’t have you a weepy mess on the court.”

Kise watched him through the steam and smiled.

+

Things were okay, after that. He saw Kuroko and Kagami sometimes, or Kuroko and Aomine, and he tried really, really hard not to think about the dynamics of that because it was none of his business and he didn’t want to. On some level he knew Kuroko would never cheat on Aomine, especially not so publicly, but the other explanation was that Aomine was somehow—fine with it, and that wasn’t something Kise could really wrap his head around.

He got his answer at 11 o’clock on a Saturday night, when he’d just barely gotten home from shooting a magazine spread all day. His phone buzzed in his pocket as he slumped on his futon. A text from Momoi:

_ki-chan I need you_

He blinked and sat up straighter. _what’s wrong?_

_it’s dai-chan. he’s here and he thinks kuroko might be trying to leave him and I know how unfair it is to ask you but he’s not listening to me and you’re the only one he wouldn’t be furious about seeing right now_

Kise swallowed hard. Was she playing games again? Was this an—an invitation, a second chance, did she want him to take this opportunity and come clean and—

_kise_

_please_

He shook his head, kicking himself. This wasn’t about her, and it definitely wasn’t about him. It was about Aomine, who was hurting and who—fuck, who honestly believed that Kuroko might be _leaving_ him again. He shoved himself to his feet.

Momoi’s look of overwhelming relief when she opened the door sent another stab of self-loathing through him. She gave him a quick, tight hug, pulling back after a moment to search his face. “I’m sorry,” she said, “I know, but he keeps saying I can’t possibly understand because I can’t—“ she cut herself off, her mouth twisting.

Kise took her by the shoulders. “He’s an asshole when he’s _not_ heartbroken,” he said. “Whatever he said to you, you know he didn’t mean it.”

Momoi licked her lips. “Maybe so. Doesn’t make him wrong.” She shook her head at Kise’s protests and gestured behind her. “He’s in there.”

Kise stepped past her, squeezing her shoulder. Aomine was pacing her living room like it was a cage, his face stormy, his hands moving constantly. He pressed a fist to his mouth, dropped it to his side to flex helplessly, ran his fingers through his hair, cracked his knuckles. He looked like he might throw a punch if anything so much as breathed too loudly.

Kise kept his distance and waited for Aomine to notice him.

He did, just a flicker of eyes, and then he was spinning away through the turn of his pacing and when he turned back he looked at Kise for real. “It’s bullshit, right?” he asked, a sharp crack of voice, like a gunshot.

“What is?” Kise asked.

“Being in love with more than one person,” Aomine said. “It’s just—guilt, it’s just falling in love with someone else and not wanting, not wanting to hurt—“ he cut himself off, glancing away, and the light from Momoi’s lamp caught the tears that slid down his face, making them gleam.

It was like someone had punched Kise hard in the chest, leaving him struggling to breathe. He’d never seen Aomine cry—never considered the idea that Aomine _could_ cry—and he was pretty sure he would do anything in the world to make it never happen again. “It’s not bullshit,” he said. He took a step forward. Nothing mattered but fixing this. “Aominecchi, look at me.”

Aomine closed his eyes, his face still turned away. 

“It’s not bullshit,” Kise insisted again. “I swear to you, it isn’t, I know that it isn’t.”

Aomine took a wet, ragged breath and licked his lips, his eyes still closed. “How?”

Kise waited a beat, settling himself, making sure his voice was steady and certain when he said, “Because that’s been my life for the last four years.”

Aomine opened his eyes. He ran a hand over his face. “What?” he said, and then, “what?” again. “I knew you had a thing for Tetsu—“

Kise wanted to laugh, but Aomine was too fragile for it—honestly, _he_ was too fragile for it, might crack open if he moved wrong. “Yeah,” he said. “And.”

Aomine scowled at him. “And? And who?”

Kise folded his arms across his chest. “You are neither this stupid nor this cruel, Aominecchi,” he said, keeping his voice light with a herculean effort of will.

Aomine scrubbed a hand across his face again and when he met Kise’s gaze there was dawning realization in his eyes. Kise took another step toward him, holding out a hand to forestall anything he might say. “It doesn’t matter,” he said firmly, and that was solid ground because it was true, because nothing mattered but fixing this. “The only thing that matters is that I can—confirm. It’s, ah. Extremely possible to love two people at once.”

Aomine licked his lips, and at least Kise had managed to surprise him enough that he wasn’t crying anymore. “But—“

“What happened?” Kise asked. He didn’t know if Aomine had been about to object or if he wanted to talk about the—the other thing, but he didn’t care. “Aominecchi, why are you here?”

Aomine sank down onto the edge of Momoi’s futon. “We—went on a date, all of us. Tetsu texted me to meet him at the mall and then Kagami showed up, and he’d—he planned this thing, where he was hiding and watching us, and.” He frowned. “I don’t know. It was sort of fun, Kagami was surprisingly cool about it.”

Kise watched him, sideways. “But,” he prompted. 

Aomine stared down at his hands. They were shaking. “But—I hadn’t really seen them together except on the court. That was bad enough, I thought, I thought, hell, I can handle that, so anything else will be easy, right?” He shook his head. “I had no idea how it would feel, seeing him in love with someone else.”

Kise went to sit next to him, biting back a thousand unfair responses.

“He told me,” Aomine said. “He said nothing had changed, he said he didn’t want to lose me but he didn’t want to let go of Kagami either so I knew, it was never, like.” He took a long breath. “They kissed, and I wanted to tear out Kagami’s lungs with my bare hands.”

Kise’s lips twitched despite himself. “Two things,” he said. “First, the homicidal urges are something you’re going to need to work on. Second, I find when Kuroko tells you something, he fucking means it.” He frowned. “Wait. Three things. You’re telling me he kissed Kagami and you just _left?_ ”

Aomine’s mouth worked miserably. “Basically,” he said. “I mean, I asked him if he wanted to go make out first and he said no, and then I left, and I’ve been freaking the fuck out about it for like a week.”

Kise slapped him, hard, across the face.

Aomine flung out a hand to steady himself on the back of the couch, the other going to his jaw. “Kise, what the _fuck?_ ”

Kise glared at him. “You’re telling me that you not only left him there without telling him anything, but this happened a week ago? Fucking hell, I knew you were an asshole but this is—“ he pushed himself to his feet and stared down at Aomine. “I can’t believe you. So you got jealous! Get the fuck over yourself!”

Aomine stared at him, confusion outweighing his anger. “It wasn’t just jealousy—I really thought he might be trying to leave—“

“So you did the exact thing that made him _actually_ leave you, the first time?” Kise snapped. “Awesome, great strategy.”

Aomine opened his mouth and then closed it again. “I didn’t,” he said at last, weak, unsure.

Kise shoved his hands into his hair. “You know what Kurokocchi’s worried about?” he asked. “ _You_ might be worrying about how he’s able to love both you and Kagami, but he’s not. That’s not an effort, that’s just a fact. That’s how he feels, and he wouldn’t be able to change it even if he wanted to, which he doesn’t.” He was pacing, now, tracing the same pattern Aomine had been earlier. “What Kuroko’s worried about is whether or not you think it’s worth it to still love him.” He stopped, fixing Aomine with a glare. “Now that it’s maybe a little bit hard. Now that it’s maybe work, and not just him falling into your goddamn lap, no strings attached, willing to do whatever the fuck you want because he thinks the absolute world of you.” He took a breath. “Now that sometimes, it’s _going_ to hurt.”

Aomine looked—lost, small in his own skin in a way Kise had maybe never seen him. He sighed. “What do you think it looks like,” he asked, more calmly, trying to let go of some of his helpless, thrumming anger, “that the first time he asked you to try and put in a little effort, you turned and walked away?”

Aomine pressed his hands together in front of him so hard Kise was worried he might snap his own wrists, his face twisting horribly. “Fuck,” he said. “Fuck, fuck—“

Kise crossed to him again, slumped down beside him. “Yeah,” he said.

Aomine let out an explosive breath. “What the fuck do I do?”

Kise bit his lip. “Sleep here tonight,” he said. “Momoi won’t mind, and I don’t think you should be alone. In the morning, we’re going shopping.”

Aomine scowled at him. “I don’t need fucking retail therapy, Kise, I’m not one of your weird-ass girlfriends—“

Kise smacked him in the shoulder. “You want to show Kurokocchi you can make an effort, right?” he asked. “Appearances matter, and to be honest, you look like shit.” He levered himself to his feet. “I’ll tell Momoi you’re staying.”

Aomine nodded, flopping down sideways on the futon. Kise started toward the door.

“You don’t think I look like shit,” Aomine said quietly from behind him. “You think I look good.”

Kise closed his eyes, his throat gone suddenly and painfully tight. “Don’t,” he warned. “Just—don’t.”

There might have been an apology, muttered into the futon. Then again, there might not.

+

He sent Aomine off looking hotter than Kise had ever looked in any photoshoot in his life, and then he went home. 

He thought he would cry, but he didn’t—he was just tired, bone-tired, awful, agonizing, soul-deep tired. It was only noon on a Sunday and he spent a while just kind of—drifting around his apartment. He made himself tea, promptly forgot about it, and then drank it cold and way too strong while watching some Home Improvement show on television.

A few days later, he received a text from Kuroko that just said _thank you_ , and then, finally, he started to cry.

+

He tracked down Kasamatsu’s apartment. Technically he could just as easily have talked to him at school but the afternoon they had tea was like an—an oasis, in his head, and Kise felt very lost, and very deserted. 

“Kasamatsucchi,” he started when Kasamatsu opened his door, and then narrowed his eyes. “Your name is too long. Can I call you Kasamacchi?”

Kasamatsu scowled at him. “No. I’m still your senpai, idiot, don’t go giving me cute nicknames.”

Kise scratched the back of his head, apologetic. “I, ah, have a plan. For our game against Touo.”

Kasamatsu raised his eyebrows. “You have a plan. And you’re here because it’s a plan that actually involves people other than yourself. Are you drunk? Am I dreaming?”

Kise pressed a hand to his heart. “Deserved barbs, all,” he admitted. “Can I come in?”

Kasamatsu’s eyes were still suspicious, but after a minute he stepped aside. “Let me guess,” he said, watching Kise. “You’re gonna seduce Aomine Daiki, thus rendering him useless, and the rest of us will sweep easily to victory.”

Kise tried to laugh, he really did, but what came out instead was something much more akin to a sob. Kasamatsu’s whole body stuttered in the middle of closing the door, and his eyes went wide. “Shit,” he said, “sorry, did something happen, is that why you’re—“

Kise shook his head. “No,” he said, and then, “I mean—yes, something happened, but I really do have a plan and if it’s all the same to you that’s what I’d much prefer to discuss.” He swallowed. “Please.”

Kasamatsu finished closing the door and then stood in front of it like he wasn’t quite sure what to do with his hands. “Yeah,” he said finally. “Okay.”

They started having weekly strategy meetings—not particularly officially; mostly Kise started showing up at Kasamatsu’s apartment every week, but the one week he didn’t Kasamatsu showed up at his and yelled at him, so they were official enough.

He was leaving Kasamatsu’s apartment one night when he heard a familiar laugh. Looking around, he saw Aomine, Kuroko and Kagami coming out of the record store, halfway down the block.

He took a little breath. Kuroko and Kagami were holding hands, and that made Kise’s stomach twist in jealousy, and Aomine was looking across Kagami to Kuroko, his laugh fading into the kind of smile that explained exactly why Kuroko always called him his light, and that made Kise’s throat hurt. But what made him falter a little in his steps was the little possessive hand that Kagami had at Aomine’s waist, his thumb hooked through the belt loop of Aomine’s jeans, his fingers curled around the curve of his hip.

He licked his lips and approached them before he could think better of it.

Kuroko saw him first and slowed, the easy relaxation in his face shading into something more complicated, and Kise hated that, hated that he’d never taken the time to reassure him that it was okay, it was all okay, it was okay as it ever had been and ever would be. “Kurokocchi, Aominecchi,” he greeted, smiling at them, “would you mind if I borrowed Kagamicchi for a minute?”

Kagami broke off in the middle of saying something to Aomine, blinking at him. “Oh,” he said, “hey, Kise.” He dropped the hand from Aomine’s waist.

Aomine started to scowl, saw Kise looking at him, and then pretended he hadn’t noticed that Kagami had moved.

Kise smiled at him and gave Kagami a little wave before looking back at Kuroko, who was watching him with his head on one side.

“Can’t borrow what isn’t mine,” Aomine said, slipping a few steps away from where he’d been close at Kagami’s side. “Kuroko, you wanna get a shake?”

“Yeah,” said Kuroko. He looked at Kise for another long moment, his eyes steady, and Kise stared him down. At last Kuroko gave him a little nod and went to join Aomine, who slung an arm around his shoulders and led him away.

Kise turned to look at Kagami. He was waiting, scratching the back of his head. “What, uh. What’s up, Kise?”

Kise stepped closer to him. “I have no animosity towards you as a person, Kagamicchi. I quite like and respect you,” he said, keeping his voice low. “But I want you to understand something.”

Kagami blinked at him, lowering his arms to his sides.

Kise jerked his chin at the retreating forms of Kuroko and Aomine. “Those two,” he said, “are more important to me than anyone else in the whole world. I have known and loved them since before you were even on this continent and if you ever do anything to hurt them—either of them—I will _crush_ you.”

Kagami stared at him. His lips twitched in a disbelieving smile, and he started to respond, but Kise took another step forward, narrowing his eyes, and Kagami stopped.

“I’m not joking,” he said. “I’m not even remotely joking.” He reached out and tangled his fingers in the chain around Kagami’s neck, pulling it tight. “You’ve been chosen, you know. You’re the luckiest person to ever walk this earth and you _will_ act accordingly.”

Kagami scowled at him. “Get off me,” he said, annoyed. “I’m not going to hurt them. Fucking hell, Kise.”

Kise dropped his chain, relenting a little. Kagami messed with it until it was settled right on his chest again. “I love them too, okay?” he said, his voice even lower than Kise’s had been, his eyes still on his hands. “I know how lucky I am.”

Kise worked his mouth against the torrent of emotions that caused. “Good,” he said shortly. He wondered, briefly, angrily, if this was what it had felt like for Momoi in that café those years ago, wanted to ask in dramatic, mirrored self-pity, _what does it feel like to be loved?_ but that was a level even he couldn’t quite sink to. “Good,” he said again instead.

“It is good,” Kuroko said quietly from beside him, and Kise bit his own lip so hard he tasted blood. Kagami didn’t even seem surprised—he flushed darker, but didn’t flinch, and somehow that was worse than anything else, that this—this newcomer could sense Kuroko so much more easily than Kise could. “How are you?” Kuroko asked.

Kise looked around for Aomine. “Fine,” he said. “I’m fine, how else would I be?” He saw Aomine arguing with a street vendor selling candy; Aomine saw him looking and quirked his eyebrows at him. Kise licked his lips. “I’ll let you lovebirds go,” he said, and heard it come out weird, distant. “Enjoy your night.”

He turned and walked away, and then cursed himself. To get to the station he’d have to circle back past them, and there was a large chance that he’d run into them on the way, and even if he didn’t he would know, they would be going home together and he would be going home alone.

He’d been alone for so _long._

Kasamatsu opened his door frowning. “What’s up? You forget something?”

Kise shook his head. “Um,” he said, and swallowed, and then swallowed again and decided, as he always did when faced with Kasamatsu’s scowl, on the truth. “I just saw Aomine and Kuroko with their new boyfriend a-and I really—“ he swallowed a third time because there was a lump in his throat that would not fucking leave and let his eyes slip closed. “I don’t think I should. Go home alone.”

There was a long pause and then the sound of Kasamatsu’s door opening further, and when Kise opened his eyes he was waiting. “Come on, then,” he snapped. “Don’t make me regret this already.”

Kise slipped inside. “Thank you,” he said, hating the way his voice shook.

Kasamatsu just sighed. “There’s a spare futon in the closet in the bedroom,” he said. “Set it up yourself, I’m going to sleep.”

He led Kise into the bedroom and then curled up in the center of his own futon like a cat. Kise smiled a little despite himself, and set up his futon as quietly as possible. He switched off the light and lay down, staring at the ceiling.

“I know you love them,” Kasamatsu said, nothing but a voice emerging from the dark, “but if I ever see either of those assholes treat you as badly as it seems like they treat you, I’ll beat the shit out of them.”

Kise bit his lip. “It’s not their fault,” he said. “They don’t do anything, they’re—they’re just. Living.” His chest rose and fell, rapidly; he pressed the heel of his hand to his eye. “It’s me,” he said miserably, hating the tears in his voice. “That’s—that’s what this whole thing with Kagami means, it’s me, I’m.” He took a great, gasping breath, horrible and embarrassing and impossibly loud in the still dark.

Kasamatsu let him cry for a minute, and then he said, “Yeah, probably.”

Kise blinked, hard, shocked out of his tears. “Wh—“

“In fact,” Kasamatsu said, cutting him off, “if I were gonna choose the person in my life least worthy of being loved, it would definitely be the hot professional model slash star athlete slash genius who, upon discovering that the two people he loves are not only dating each other but also someone else, proceeds to defend them all to a complete stranger and take the responsibility for their shitty goddamn actions onto himself.” His voice was scornful. “Because that guy has _no_ good qualities worthy of being respected or admired.”

Kise licked his lips, tasted salt. “Kasamacchi—“

“Call me that again and I’m kicking you out on your ass, I don’t care if you’ve missed the last train.” Kise heard Kasamatsu shift on the bed. “Go to sleep, Kise.”

Kise closed his eyes. “Right,” he said. “Senpai—thank you.”

Kasamatsu threw a pillow at him. “ _Sleep,_ idiot.”

+

Watching Kuroko and Kagami play was a pleasure. A wistful pleasure, maybe, but a pleasure anyway. Kuroko—when he was visible at all—moved around the court like water, always precisely where they needed him to be. Kagami was a never-tiring powerhouse: loud, strong, and so goddamn fast it would have been hard to keep track of him if his presence hadn’t been so toweringly bright.

Watching Aomine watch Kuroko and Kagami play was a much more masochistic kind of pleasure, because he was smiling. He was watching Kagami play, watching Kagami pull moves from Kise knew backwards and forwards were from Aomine’s playbook, and he was _smiling._

"You are limiting yourself unnecessarily," said a soft voice from behind him. 

Kise turned, surprised. "Midorimacchi?"

Midorima took a step forward so he was standing beside Kise, his eyes on the court below. Kise squinted at his profile, trying to guess at his meaning. "I don't think you're one to lecture me on working with a team—"

"I do not mean only on the court," Midorima interrupted. He raised an eyebrow. “You’re staring.”

Kise sighed, embarrassed. "Am I so obvious?"

Midorima didn't take his eyes off the court below. "You always have been," he said bluntly, and then paused, frowning, as if searching for words. "Calling us the Generation of Miracles was misleading."

Kise raised his eyebrows and waited.

Midorima raised a bandage-wrapped hand to push his glasses up his nose. "We fell into the trap of thinking ourselves alone at the top, of thinking ourselves apart from the rest of our real generation. We began to think that we were the only ones worthy of respect, that we could only truly relate to one another." He looked sideways at Kise. "We were wrong. Kuroko and Kagami have proven that."

He could have meant in terms of skill. Perhaps he did, in part. But there was a slight flush to his cheeks and an unexpected softness in his voice. He took a breath. "There are others worthy of our love," he said. "Keep that in mind."

He turned and left. Kise stared after him, eyebrows high. After a moment he heard Takao's happy drawl, cut off by the door closing between them: "Shin-chaaan! What were you talking about—"

Kise smiled.

+

It was time. 

Kise got a text from Momoi that was just a heart; he sent one back. He glanced over at the opposing bench and saw Aomine looking his way. They locked eyes. Aomine blinked slow at him and smirked in a way that would have made Kise’s younger self pass out; even now, he felt a little weak at the knees.

"Kise." Kasamatsu caught his eyes and held them, his own gaze deep and calm. An oasis. Kise took a long breath against his panic and really looked at him, let the strength in his face settle into his bones.

Kasamatsu nodded at him, pleased, maybe, at the steadiness of his gaze. "You ready?"

Kise nodded back, and grinned. "Yeah," he said. "Let's go."

**Author's Note:**

> Timeline notes!
> 
> There are a couple crossover scenes here; Kise seeing Kuroko and Aomine kiss & Kuroko texting him are told from Kuroko's POV in _A Liar or a Lover_. Also in that fic Aomine also tells Kuroko that he talked to Kise, so the conversation told here obviously affects the events in that fic and Kuroko texting Kise to thank him affects this one. If you like you can actually switch back and forth and read those scenes in the order they happen, first the aokagakuro date, then Aomine and Kise's conversation in this fic, and then Aomine showing up at Kuroko's apartment looking hot.
> 
> This fic starts before the beginning of _Your Fonder Heart_ and ends after the end of it, making it the one out of the three of them that covers the largest span of time. You can think of them as nesting inside of each other, with this as the largest, then YFH, then ALOAL. 
> 
> Thanks for reading! <3


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